Promise Me
by DjinnAndDragons
Summary: Could be considered to have Wincest undertones, but, well.. interpret as you like! C;


At a small gas station on the outskirts of who-knows-where, South Dakota, the boys are fueling up. Sam sips apathetically at his coffee and Dean thumps the hood of the Impala with his figertips to the beat of a song they'd been listening to two tapes ago. Sam's slouched back in his seat, waiting for Dean to finish up so they can get going again, humming mindlessly to some song he used to be able to listen to, before the fire, back when he had the iPod that was probably some melded-into-place fixture on the once-smouldering floor of his old apartment, along with the smoke-filled memory of that last night he saw Jess...

Sam swallows hard, clears his throat, scrunches his eyelids tight, fighting against the tears that have threatened ever since the hour his vision was filled with flames. He breathes in sharply, Dean thudding down into the driver's seat, smiling over at Sam without really thinking. Sam's sight doesn't meet his brother's. He knows Dean is there, yeah, and he can tell Dean's trying to lighten things but... just, no. He can't right now.

He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to.

He hasn't smiled since that night. All brooding looks and grunted-replies, eyes misting over whenever Dean looks away. Dean's lucky if he can get Sam to look at him. And he won't talk about it, either. Dean knows that this is hard for Sam. God knows, he knows. He had to go through the same thing with their Mother, and he thinks, maybe if he hadn't been so young at the time, if he'd already been a teen, he might've gotten on worse, similar to their Father's drunken outbursts and leaving the boys for days on end.

They speed down a long, deserted stretch of highway, all dirt and gravel, large farm-plains on either side, and Sam's got that look. Dean's seen it who-knows-how-many times now, the same look Sammy always used to get when he was about to break down crying. Like the time when they were locked up in the motel room, John off on a hunt for shifters with Bobby, when the boys were too young for any of it. Sam sat in front of the muted television, fiddling with an old toy car of Dean's, along with one of his own, crashing them into eachother over and over again, mimicking the screeches and squeaks of tires as best a little boy could.

-

"Gimme that back! You're gonna break it!" Dean rushes over and takes his own car back with some force, leaving little Sammy staring down into his empty right hand.

"De-" Sammy starts, looking after his brother, who stoops back to the bed and flops down on it. "Dee, please?" Sammy still hadn't grasped the act of saying Dean's whole name. Dean looks over to the small, crouched form, clutching his car tightly in his hand. Sammy's eyes shine blue-green in the faint buzz of light from the silent action-film on the screen. His hand is half outstretched towards his brother, his mouth dropped into a small pout.

"No, Sam." Dean frowns, fighting the sadness in his little brother's eyes. The puppy-dog face won't work this time. He won't let it. "It's my car, and you're just gonna break it."

Sammy turns, then, abruptly, facing the t.v. again. He drops his car at his side, staring into the bright flames of a mute explosion on the screen. His jaw sets tight and his eyes look distant, sad. His mouth shows the traces of a frown, and his cheeks flush, breathing faster, but shallower. Dean watches every movement, and his walls of defense aren't going to last him in this storm. He can see the tears well up in his baby brother's eyes, a wet sheen passing over them. His walls crack.

Dean practically leaps from the bed and onto the floor beside little Sam. "Sam, Sammy... Sammy, don't cry. Please, I'm sorry..." He hesitantly wraps his arm around the now shaking shoulders of his brother. Sammy hiccups and his tears flow.

"You don't love me, Dee, you don-" his breath hitches, letting a small gasp of a sob escape. "You never loved me, Dee."

Sammy, what are you talking about, of course I love you, you're my little brother, my baby brother, I always take care of you, Sammy, I love you, Sammy.

Dean can't decide what to say, caught in the crossfire of hurt and confusion, stunned by his brother's words.

His mouth gapes for a moment, then, realising his poor, sweet little brother might misconstrue his silence for agreement, he blurts "Of course I do! Sammy, I love you. Always have. Always will." He smiles, disarming, warm, taking Sammy's face in his hands and making him look him in the eyes. Sammy looks red, like he'd been trying not to breathe so he could fight off the sobs. Dean's heart drops in his chest, murmuring another apology, looking down at his knees and his brother's curled, defensive hands, the little red car beside them.

Dean takes his car from his pocket slowly. He carefully, delicately lifts one of Sammy's hands in his own, opening his brother's fingers and placing the toy inside. "You can play with it if you want to, Sammy. It's okay. Actually," He looks down at the light blue surface in Sammy's still-open hand. He pushes his brother's fingers closed around the small metal figure, cupping his hand over Sammy's. He smiles again. "Why don't y'just keep it, huh?"

Sammy looks up at his brother, eyes wide, shining with the aftermath of tears. Dean laughs a little at the childish wonder in his brother's eyes. "Dee, really? I can keep it?"

Dean nods, smiling, gladdened by Sammy's returning grin. "Go ahead, kiddo." He starts to push up to his feet, but Sammy makes a small, distressful noise, reaching after Dean. "Hmm?"

"Dee..." He looks down at the toys in his hands, then back up into his older brother's eyes. "Dee, you wanna watch with me?" He points a finger at the blurry, speeding cars on the t.v. screen, looking only for a moment before turning his attention back to Dean. Dean's eyes flit up to the screen for only a millisecond. He would've said yes no matter what was playing, anyway.

"Sure, Sammy." He scoots closer, but Sammy makes a movement, grabbing onto Dean's pant-leg, climbing up into his lap. Dean doesn't protest, letting Sammy settle himself.

"Thank you, Dee." Sammy whispers, clutching Dean's shirt with one hand, the other resting over his brother's arms wrapped around him. Dean un-mutes the t.v. and they watch the ending of some movie neither of them cares to learn the name of. Sammy just wanted the reassuring presence of his older, loving brother, and Dean was content to keep Sammy happy. He loves him after all.

-

"Dean... Hey, Dean? ... Dean!"

Dean looks over to the passenger seat, into Sammy's dark, agitated eyes, his patented bitchface prominant, and no sign of his former sadness is present. As Dean slowly snaps out of his thoughts, he realises he's staring, and shifts his gaze to the blurred road infront of them. "What?"

"Uhm, you're speeding?"

"When have I ever NOT sped, Sam?" Dean blurts, suddenly angry, though he can't place why.

"I mean, I know, but... You're speeding, even for you, Dean." Sam stares at his brother's profile for a moment, waiting for a reply, and when he doesn't get one, he turns with a huff to look back out his window. Dean, himself, has slowly started to ease off the gas. His knuckles turn white, gripping the wheel, caught in an intense thought.

Eventually, he takes his foot off the gas pedal completely, letting the car coast to a stop on the side of the empty road. Sam looks over to Dean, confused, bitchface completely gone, only worry hogging his features. "Dean?" Giving no answer, Dean shoves the door open and jumps out into the street. He stumbles over to the hood and sits, Sam following close behind, though he stays upright. "Dean, man, what's wrong?"

It's sort of amazing, Dean thinks to himself, how his little brother has managed this long without once bursting into tears. Maybe it's because they haven't talked about it yet, or Sammy's just... stronger now. Or he's all messed up from this and he's turning into Dad after their Mother was taken. All silence until he was drunk enough to scream and go off on crusades to find Yellow Eyes. God, Dean hopes that's not it. He can't go through Dad again, or handle Sam leaving him, like Dad seems to have. If Sammy leaves him... He doesn't know how long he'd manage before he'd go insane.

He can't stand being alone, not that he'd ever tell anyone that... and everyone's leaving him.

It takes Dean a second to realize that his eyes are watering, and he quickly wipes them with his hand, trying to make it look like he's just stressed about something, not ... not crying. He's Dean Winchester, he doesn't cry...

"Sammy, I uhm..." He clears his throat. "We need to talk. 'Cause I know you're not okay and I know you don't want to talk about it, but you need to let it out because-." His voice unwillingly cracks, and he tightens his jaw. Slowly, he turns his head to look up at Sam, who's standing paralysed.

"Dean, I told you, I-"

"Sam, please, I can't have you turning into Dad on me. He- When- After the- the fire... He wouldn't talk to me about it, man, and he'd just take off and... I heard him cry some nights, Sammy. He was breaking and he wouldn't let me help him, no matter what I fucking-" That was it, he broke, tears streaming... And, God damnit, he didn't give a fuck anymore. He was gonna get this out if it killed him. "He wouldn't let me talk to him about Mom or anything, and, man, I- I- I can't have you fucking block me out like that, too. I just- I can't, Sammy. Please..." he choked out his words through sobbing convultions, taking in whatever shaky breath his lungs would permit.

Sam's eyes grow soft, shuffling his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Dean..." he looks up enough to meet Dean's gaze, silenced by the gravity in his brother's shaking features, his shining, sad eyes. Sam's throat tightens and he blinks back tears. "Dean, man, I'm sorry. I just, I can't right now-" voice cracking, he takes a deep breath, but he can't do this anymore. One choking, shaken sob rattles out of him, and his eyes flood.

Sam stands still for what feels like hours, wave after wave of sadness and frustration ripping through him.

"Dean, I fucking miss her, I was going to- going to marry her and-" He can't breathe right, his lungs are burning. "and she's the only person who ever fucking told me she loved me... The only person who fucking meant it, Dean." His voice, laced with pain and hurt, squeaks out his brother's name.

"Sammy..." Dean breathes, silent tears reaching their length down his face to mirror his brother's. He stands, legs unwilling to carry his full weight, stumbling forward and bashing into his tall, lanky, sobbing little brother. His arms slip around Sam, his little Sammy, his baby brother. He's fucking relieved and sad and hurt all at once. His arms tighten around Sammy's middle, unwilling to release him. Sam's arms hang listlessly for a moment, and Dean can hear his brother's breathing speed, then calm, ever so slightly, as he joins his arms around Dean's shoulders. Dean's face is smashed up against Sam's shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching up, invisible from Sam's view.

Fuck the no-chick-flick-moments rule.

Sam fucking needs this from him.

And he needs this from Sam.

"Sammy... I'm so sorry... and I-" He breathes in, throat tight. He can feel Sam's grip on him falter for only a moment, before returning full-force. "I love you. I know it doesn't change anything, but I wanted to tell you that... to remind you." His voice softens, the tears audible, but flowing more smoothly now, the sobs standing down so he can get this out. "You gotta promise me, man. You gotta try to deal with this instead of shoving it down." Sam takes a shaky breath, but doesn't interrupt. "I'm here for you, okay?" Though they're not looking at eachother's faces, the air is filled with a warmth of trust, the silent pact forming. They know they have eachother...

And that's what really matters, after all.

"Okay." Sam squeaks out after a moment.

"You promise?" Dean lightly teases, knowing that any word could make or break them.

Sam laughs out, free of bitterness, sobs gone, tears drying up in his brother's hair. Dean grants himself a small sigh of relief.

"Promise."

At a small gas station on the outskirts of who-knows-where, South Dakota, the boys are fueling up. Sam sips apathetically at his coffee and Dean thumps the hood of the Impala with his figertips to the beat of a song they'd been listening to two tapes ago. Sam's slouched back in his seat, waiting for Dean to finish up so they can get going again, humming mindlessly to some song he used to be able to listen to, before the fire, back when he had the iPod that was probably some melded-into-place fixture on the once-smouldering floor of his old apartment, along with the smoke-filled memory of that last night he saw Jess...

Sam swallows hard, clears his throat, scrunches his eyelids tight, fighting against the tears that have threatened ever since the hour his vision was filled with flames. He breathes in sharply, Dean thudding down into the driver's seat, smiling over at Sam without really thinking. Sam's sight doesn't meet his brother's. He knows Dean is there, yeah, and he can tell Dean's trying to lighten things but... just, no. He can't right now.

He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to.

He hasn't smiled since that night. All brooding looks and grunted-replies, eyes misting over whenever Dean looks away. Dean's lucky if he can get Sam to look at him. And he won't talk about it, either. Dean knows that this is hard for Sam. God knows, he knows. He had to go through the same thing with their Mother, and he thinks, maybe if he hadn't been so young at the time, if he'd already been a teen, he might've gotten on worse, similar to their Father's drunken outbursts and leaving the boys for days on end.

They speed down a long, deserted stretch of highway, all dirt and gravel, large farm-plains on either side, and Sam's got that look. Dean's seen it who-knows-how-many times now, the same look Sammy always used to get when he was about to break down crying. Like the time when they were locked up in the motel room, John off on a hunt for shifters with Bobby, when the boys were too young for any of it. Sam sat in front of the muted television, fiddling with an old toy car of Dean's, along with one of his own, crashing them into eachother over and over again, mimicking the screeches and squeaks of tires as best a little boy could.

-

"Gimme that back! You're gonna break it!" Dean rushes over and takes his own car back with some force, leaving little Sammy staring down into his empty right hand.

"De-" Sammy starts, looking after his brother, who stoops back to the bed and flops down on it. "Dee, please?" Sammy still hadn't grasped the act of saying Dean's whole name. Dean looks over to the small, crouched form, clutching his car tightly in his hand. Sammy's eyes shine blue-green in the faint buzz of light from the silent action-film on the screen. His hand is half outstretched towards his brother, his mouth dropped into a small pout.

"No, Sam." Dean frowns, fighting the sadness in his little brother's eyes. The puppy-dog face won't work this time. He won't let it. "It's my car, and you're just gonna break it."

Sammy turns, then, abruptly, facing the t.v. again. He drops his car at his side, staring into the bright flames of a mute explosion on the screen. His jaw sets tight and his eyes look distant, sad. His mouth shows the traces of a frown, and his cheeks flush, breathing faster, but shallower. Dean watches every movement, and his walls of defense aren't going to last him in this storm. He can see the tears well up in his baby brother's eyes, a wet sheen passing over them. His walls crack.

Dean practically leaps from the bed and onto the floor beside little Sam. "Sam, Sammy... Sammy, don't cry. Please, I'm sorry..." He hesitantly wraps his arm around the now shaking shoulders of his brother. Sammy hiccups and his tears flow.

"You don't love me, Dee, you don-" his breath hitches, letting a small gasp of a sob escape. "You never loved me, Dee."

Sammy, what are you talking about, of course I love you, you're my little brother, my baby brother, I always take care of you, Sammy, I love you, Sammy.

Dean can't decide what to say, caught in the crossfire of hurt and confusion, stunned by his brother's words.

His mouth gapes for a moment, then, realising his poor, sweet little brother might misconstrue his silence for agreement, he blurts "Of course I do! Sammy, I love you. Always have. Always will." He smiles, disarming, warm, taking Sammy's face in his hands and making him look him in the eyes. Sammy looks red, like he'd been trying not to breathe so he could fight off the sobs. Dean's heart drops in his chest, murmuring another apology, looking down at his knees and his brother's curled, defensive hands, the little red car beside them.

Dean takes his car from his pocket slowly. He carefully, delicately lifts one of Sammy's hands in his own, opening his brother's fingers and placing the toy inside. "You can play with it if you want to, Sammy. It's okay. Actually," He looks down at the light blue surface in Sammy's still-open hand. He pushes his brother's fingers closed around the small metal figure, cupping his hand over Sammy's. He smiles again. "Why don't y'just keep it, huh?"

Sammy looks up at his brother, eyes wide, shining with the aftermath of tears. Dean laughs a little at the childish wonder in his brother's eyes. "Dee, really? I can keep it?"

Dean nods, smiling, gladdened by Sammy's returning grin. "Go ahead, kiddo." He starts to push up to his feet, but Sammy makes a small, distressful noise, reaching after Dean. "Hmm?"

"Dee..." He looks down at the toys in his hands, then back up into his older brother's eyes. "Dee, you wanna watch with me?" He points a finger at the blurry, speeding cars on the t.v. screen, looking only for a moment before turning his attention back to Dean. Dean's eyes flit up to the screen for only a millisecond. He would've said yes no matter what was playing, anyway.

"Sure, Sammy." He scoots closer, but Sammy makes a movement, grabbing onto Dean's pant-leg, climbing up into his lap. Dean doesn't protest, letting Sammy settle himself.

"Thank you, Dee." Sammy whispers, clutching Dean's shirt with one hand, the other resting over his brother's arms wrapped around him. Dean un-mutes the t.v. and they watch the ending of some movie neither of them cares to learn the name of. Sammy just wanted the reassuring presence of his older, loving brother, and Dean was content to keep Sammy happy. He loves him after all.

-

"Dean... Hey, Dean? ... Dean!"

Dean looks over to the passenger seat, into Sammy's dark, agitated eyes, his patented bitchface prominant, and no sign of his former sadness is present. As Dean slowly snaps out of his thoughts, he realises he's staring, and shifts his gaze to the blurred road infront of them. "What?"

"Uhm, you're speeding?"

"When have I ever NOT sped, Sam?" Dean blurts, suddenly angry, though he can't place why.

"I mean, I know, but... You're speeding, even for you, Dean." Sam stares at his brother's profile for a moment, waiting for a reply, and when he doesn't get one, he turns with a huff to look back out his window. Dean, himself, has slowly started to ease off the gas. His knuckles turn white, gripping the wheel, caught in an intense thought.

Eventually, he takes his foot off the gas pedal completely, letting the car coast to a stop on the side of the empty road. Sam looks over to Dean, confused, bitchface completely gone, only worry hogging his features. "Dean?" Giving no answer, Dean shoves the door open and jumps out into the street. He stumbles over to the hood and sits, Sam following close behind, though he stays upright. "Dean, man, what's wrong?"

It's sort of amazing, Dean thinks to himself, how his little brother has managed this long without once bursting into tears. Maybe it's because they haven't talked about it yet, or Sammy's just... stronger now. Or he's all messed up from this and he's turning into Dad after their Mother was taken. All silence until he was drunk enough to scream and go off on crusades to find Yellow Eyes. God, Dean hopes that's not it. He can't go through Dad again, or handle Sam leaving him, like Dad seems to have. If Sammy leaves him... He doesn't know how long he'd manage before he'd go insane.

He can't stand being alone, not that he'd ever tell anyone that... and everyone's leaving him.

It takes Dean a second to realize that his eyes are watering, and he quickly wipes them with his hand, trying to make it look like he's just stressed about something, not ... not crying. He's Dean Winchester, he doesn't cry...

"Sammy, I uhm..." He clears his throat. "We need to talk. 'Cause I know you're not okay and I know you don't want to talk about it, but you need to let it out because-." His voice unwillingly cracks, and he tightens his jaw. Slowly, he turns his head to look up at Sam, who's standing paralysed.

"Dean, I told you, I-"

"Sam, please, I can't have you turning into Dad on me. He- When- After the- the fire... He wouldn't talk to me about it, man, and he'd just take off and... I heard him cry some nights, Sammy. He was breaking and he wouldn't let me help him, no matter what I fucking-" That was it, he broke, tears streaming... And, God damnit, he didn't give a fuck anymore. He was gonna get this out if it killed him. "He wouldn't let me talk to him about Mom or anything, and, man, I- I- I can't have you fucking block me out like that, too. I just- I can't, Sammy. Please..." he choked out his words through sobbing convultions, taking in whatever shaky breath his lungs would permit.

Sam's eyes grow soft, shuffling his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Dean..." he looks up enough to meet Dean's gaze, silenced by the gravity in his brother's shaking features, his shining, sad eyes. Sam's throat tightens and he blinks back tears. "Dean, man, I'm sorry. I just, I can't right now-" voice cracking, he takes a deep breath, but he can't do this anymore. One choking, shaken sob rattles out of him, and his eyes flood.

Sam stands still for what feels like hours, wave after wave of sadness and frustration ripping through him.

"Dean, I fucking miss her, I was going to- going to marry her and-" He can't breathe right, his lungs are burning. "and she's the only person who ever fucking told me she loved me... The only person who fucking meant it, Dean." His voice, laced with pain and hurt, squeaks out his brother's name.

"Sammy..." Dean breathes, silent tears reaching their length down his face to mirror his brother's. He stands, legs unwilling to carry his full weight, stumbling forward and bashing into his tall, lanky, sobbing little brother. His arms slip around Sam, his little Sammy, his baby brother. He's fucking relieved and sad and hurt all at once. His arms tighten around Sammy's middle, unwilling to release him. Sam's arms hang listlessly for a moment, and Dean can hear his brother's breathing speed, then calm, ever so slightly, as he joins his arms around Dean's shoulders. Dean's face is smashed up against Sam's shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching up, invisible from Sam's view.

Fuck the no-chick-flick-moments rule.

Sam fucking needs this from him.

And he needs this from Sam.

"Sammy... I'm so sorry... and I-" He breathes in, throat tight. He can feel Sam's grip on him falter for only a moment, before returning full-force. "I love you. I know it doesn't change anything, but I wanted to tell you that... to remind you." His voice softens, the tears audible, but flowing more smoothly now, the sobs standing down so he can get this out. "You gotta promise me, man. You gotta try to deal with this instead of shoving it down." Sam takes a shaky breath, but doesn't interrupt. "I'm here for you, okay?" Though they're not looking at eachother's faces, the air is filled with a warmth of trust, the silent pact forming. They know they have eachother...

And that's what really matters, after all.

"Okay." Sam squeaks out after a moment.

"You promise?" Dean lightly teases, knowing that any word could make or break them.

Sam laughs out, free of bitterness, sobs gone, tears drying up in his brother's hair. Dean grants himself a small sigh of relief.

"Promise."


End file.
